


The hours between our souls

by LostinFic



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - World War II, F/M, Magic Realism, One Shot, Soulmate-Identifying Timers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 10:08:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15993008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostinFic/pseuds/LostinFic
Summary: In a world where each family has a unique characteristic, members of Rose’s family are born with a countdown on their wrist to the first meeting with their soulmate. But the events of the Second World War are about to influence that countdown in unprecedented ways.





	The hours between our souls

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【翻译】The hours between our souls/所爱隔山海](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18370403) by [Sevenlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sevenlock/pseuds/Sevenlock)



> Written for @doctorroseprompts Soulmate September  
> Beta: the lovely Fadewithfury

 

Each family is unique. Some have a special pudding recipe, others a musical talent, and some can talk to the dead. Over millennia, families all across the world have developed distinctive characteristics that are passed—more or less intact—down generations. Some descendants become masters of their abilities, others inherit a watered-down version. A brother can fly while his sister can only hover two inches above the floor.

While some characteristics are simply fun, some families make a living out of theirs: nurses with an anesthetic touch, engineers and accountants with brains like calculators, farmers with a literal green thumb. But terrible fates befall those who abuse their gifts. Ancient gods lost their altars, and heroes failed, immortalized in parables about greed.

It keeps the Royal family honest.

And so, the World wonders what is the Hitlers’ special ability, and when will it come back to bite them in the arse?

The Prentices have a special mark on their inner wrist: a countdown to the first meeting with their soulmates that only they can see.

Rose thinks it’s absolute rubbish.

It was a fantastic advantage for her great-great-aunt Margaret who met her soulmate when she was five and lived a long and happy life with her. But what good was it to Rose’s mother? Jackie lost her soulmate a few years after their wedding. All her efforts to meet new men have yielded only disappointment and heartache. It seems she’s doomed to spend the rest of her life alone.

Rose would much rather have Shareen’s gift to see other people’s dreams, or Mickey’s ability to fix engines (his ancestors used to heal horses, but the characteristic evolved along with technology). Even that family whose hair changes colour when they’re in love have it better.

Perhaps it’s Rose’s reluctance to embrace her gift that has caused the countdown to wobble, speeding up or slowing down, since her thirteenth birthday. After all, these characteristics tend to interact with their holder’s personality in unpredictable ways.

She refused to let it dictate her life and relationships, so she hid her wrist with a large beaded bracelet. But despite her efforts, she never forgot the year predicted by the countdown: 1939.

On her nineteenth birthday, for the first time in years, she sneaks a glance under the bracelet: 197 days, 10 hours, 35 minutes and 11 seconds.

“I’d better enjoy it while it lasts,” Mickey says before kissing her.

Five months later, Great Britain declares war on Germany. All men between 18 and 41 years old become liable to be called up by the Army. The countdown on her wrist increases by six years: her soulmate has been drafted.

She’s heartbroken to have to wait six more years, until she realizes it mean the first meeting with her soulmate is not set in stone. She’s never heard of that happening to her forebearers, and it sparks excitement in her chest.

And she realizes too, that those who claim the war will not last are wrong. It is nowhere near its end. So be it. Rose joins the Auxiliary Territorial Services. Despite the grim circumstances, she relishes this opportunity to be part of the action and help her fellow British citizens.

Men as well as female volunteers are dispatched across the different branches of the Army according to their family gifts.

Mickey joins the Royal Air Force as a mechanic.

On the Channel, Navy and _Kriegsmarine_ officers who can control water fight for dominance.

The British Secret Intelligence Services recruit Shareen. They make her watch the dreams of prisoners of war for information on the German Army. But they dream of their homes, of their families, of peace. Her skin becomes ashen, her eyes are sad. “We’re all just humans,” she says, “we all want the same thing yet we kill each other.”

This is exactly why some people refuse to disclose their abilities-- they fear it will be abused.

An MP proposes a law to force every family to reveal their unique characteristics in the name of the war effort. The debate rages for months. The League of Nations declares the motion unlawful. A referendum is held. Along with “Careless talk costs lives!” and “Dig for Victory!” propaganda posters claim “Disclose your talents for combatants!” Ultimately, in Britain as in other countries, the population is more afraid of fate than of the Nazis.

Rose’s ability is useless for the war effort. She’s relegated to menial tasks with girls who can resuscitate frogs or whose eye color changes according to their mood. But she doesn’t mind. Anything to help. And soon, her captain notices her positive energy.

In March 1940, Rose is sent to the north of France, as a telephonist, to assist the British Expeditionary Force.

The countdown on her wrist changes to less than a year. Maybe he’s in France too. And maybe her own decisions also influence the countdown.

Whenever the opportunity arises, Rose wanders away from her quarters. She explores Dunkirk, befriends the remaining locals and the stationed soldiers.

She thinks, if one of them is her soulmate, she’ll know. That’s what her mother, aunts and uncles always said, “I just knew”.

Not so long ago, she would have shamelessly flirted with the soldiers to defy her destiny. Now, she’s not as inclined to succumb to men’s charm. Except Jack’s charm. But that’s his family’s special talent.

“I’m related to Helen of Troy on my father’s side,” he explains.

“Didn’t she abuse her talent?”

“Yeah, but it eventually came back, about ten generations later.”

As soon as he learns she has a soulmate, he tones it down. Or maybe it’s because he met Ianto.

At night, Rose traces the numbers on her wrist. In a foreign land, and under constant threat from the Nazis, it would be nice to have someone by her side. Comforting hugs and a hand to hold. Does her soulmate long for these things too?

As the German Army advances on the Western Front, the BEF is driven back towards the English Channel. The longer she stays in Dunkirk, the more the time mark on her wrist fluctuates. Troops begin to evacuate, but she’s told to stay. Fearful days follow. She works hard to forget the advancing menace.

On the first of June, the sky is clear for the first time in weeks. Good flying weather for the _Luftwaffe_. Rose and her unit are in an open-top jeep, careening towards the port where hastily assembled fishing boats are waiting to evacuate them.

The sounds of battle are getting closer. The staccato of Bren guns. The drone of plane engines. The ground shakes. Smoke erupts in fat, dark clouds.

The countdown on her wrist stops completely. Stuck. Frozen. Suspended. 80 days, 6 hours, 43 minutes and 2 seconds.

What does it mean?

Fear grips her stomach. She shakes her wrist like she would a broken clock.

“C’mon,” she begs as tears of panic well up in her eyes.

Has he died? Or will she?

She’s so distracted by the time mark, she doesn’t notice her colleagues rushing for cover.

“Rose! Get down!” Jack yells.

A bomber approaches as Rose jumps off the jeep. The latch opens under the plane. The bomb slides off the rails. She won’t make it, she’s too far. She runs as fast as she can towards the shelter. She trips, falls flat on her stomach. She crawls through the mud. Stones nick her skin. And she’s thinking: how am I still alive?

Her friends are watching, stock-still, mouths agape.

An explosion. Debris fall around her. She’s deaf. She breathes dust. But she’s safe in the shelter.

The numbers on her wrist flicker.

What happened?

When she sets foot on British soil, the countdown reels back to three years until their first meeting. The tears she’s been holding back since leaving Dunkirk overflow. She’s shaken by her near-death experience, and the very real possibility that one of them will die before they even meet.

Thankfully, Jackie is there, waiting to take Rose home.

She tells her mother about the irregularities in the countdown, but Jackie can offer no explanation.

“But you still had your countdown during the Great War,” Rose insists. “Daddy was drafted.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, sweetheart, it didn’t move a tick. Don’t worry too much about it. You’ll find them.”

But Rose does worry. With every Ally victory, the time mark on her wrist decreases. With every Axis victory, it increases. It changes at other times too, in ways she cannot explain. She begins to fear for him, for this soulmate she can only picture with hazy features in her mind. She sees his pain and his determination in the faces of the soldiers she meets. What is he thinking? Is he wounded? Is he meeting other girls, in countries where he wouldn’t have set foot without the war? After all, he doesn’t know he has a soulmate.

Every day, she worries about someone she doesn’t know. If they had already met, at least they could write to each other.

Sometimes, she holds her own wrist as if reaching for a hand. To give him strength. To bring herself comfort.

In the summer of ’41, the Germans have stopped bombing London every night, but it’s almost worse. Not knowing. Have they given up or are they preparing something bigger? The city buzzes with an undercurrent of anxiety, Londoners are impatient and jumpy.

At night, Rose mans a searchlight. She guides the beam across the dark sky, waiting for the now familiar thrum of enemy planes and the whistles of incendiary bombs.

On the Powell Estate, the Barcroft sisters visit the allotment gardens daily for the benefit of all. When they sing, carrots sprout, strawberries multiply and pea pods swell with sweetness.

With Jackie’s help, Rose sets up a veritable canning factory in the kitchen. She knows there will be four more years of this, of fear and rationing. The best she can do is supply her friends with raspberry jam and tomato sauce.

Sitting in Hyde Park, back against her attributed searchlight, Rose combs her fingers through the grass. She makes a list of things she will do in the summer after the war. She imagines spur-of-the-moment trips to the country, exploring castles in Scotland, Versailles or even Cardiff. Travelling by ship on the ocean and dancing to Glenn Miller on the deck. Romantic picnics in the grass, scooter rides, and meteor showers.

The day expands into a luminous evening, and the warm air is soft as a caress. She wishes the sun would never set.

A strange thing happens, when the seconds and minutes displayed on her wrist reach 0, they start again at 100 instead of 60. Time stretches. Bird wings rise and fall the way water laps at the shores. Bell flowers swing lazily on their stems and golden oats sway with the breeze.

And she hopes he, wherever he is, is enjoying this evening too.

Rose tries to influence the countdown by striking up conversations with strangers in queues and visiting places she normally wouldn’t.

She hears of a bookshop in Hammersmith where the clerk knows exactly what customers need to read. He squints at Rose for a moment. To her surprise, he gives her a secondhand manual of astrophysics. She flips through the pages, trying to make sense of the scientific text.

“Tell you what,” the clerk says, “ if you buy it, I’ll give you this romance novel for free.”

As soon as she steps out of the shop, Rose pulls up her sleeve to look at her time mark. Purchasing the book removed 34 days from the countdown. What is it about this book? She immediately sits down on a bench to begin reading it.

From then on, despite its significant size and weight, she carries the book with her everywhere along with her gas mask, identity papers and tin hat.

September comes. Dread grows in her stomach when days shrink and darkness creeps out earlier. Mornings are gloomy and twilights pessimistic.

But on the ninth, something spectacular happens: great arcs of blues and greens dance across the night sky. With a wide smile on her face, Rose stares, completely forgetting her duties. Aurora Borealis, she read about them in the astrophysics book.

The next day, newspapers explain that sunspots caused a major geomagnetic storm. It disturbed radio equipment and telegraph lines across the world. Moreover, the lights helped the RAF find their targets over the Channel, and they shot down 15 German planes, but lost 10 of their own. Somehow it also brought Rose’s soulmate closer to her; the countdown is now under two years.

After Christmas, Rose receives a promotion and is offered a choice of destinations for her next posting. She’s immediately attracted to foreign countries. But when she sets her mind on Singapore, the delay until meeting her soulmate increases by four years. She doesn’t want to let it dictate her future, but she’s worried it means danger for her. She contemplates other options, keeping an eye on the countdown. It’s cheating, she knows, but choosing York brings the countdown to less than year. She’s desperate to find him now. The war has separated her from her friends and family, sometimes permanently, and amidst all this senseless violence she needs him.

Still, abusing one’s gift is dangerous, so she rationalizes that it’s not about her soulmate, but because Jackie can come with her to York.

In February, Singapore falls to the Japanese, and 80 000 British, Indians and Australians are taken prisoners.

“Blimey! Good thing you changed your mind,” Jackie says. “Lucky you.”

But it’s not luck when you cheated.

At least, they are safe in York, or so she thinks; in the spring, the Germans change tactic. Instead of bombing the capital, they target other culturally and historically significant cities in Britain to affect the population’s morale.

York is one of those cities.

When it happens, it’s past midnight and Rose is walking in the street, on her way to the barracks at the northern edge of town. What starts as a faint hum, like a fly trapped in a room, rises to a deafening roar. Planes materialize on the horizon. Alarms wail throughout the blacked out city. Panic seizes the people around her. It’s not a tip-and-run raid, but a sustained attack. The planes swarm above the buildings, dropping more and more shells.

An air raid precaution warden who can see in the dark whistles and guides civilians towards the nearest public shelter. “This way. Quick as you can.”

Rose hurries towards the long brick building, past the sandbags by the entrance, and into the crowd already gathered inside. Everyone is quiet, tense and holding their breaths for the next detonation.

Rose is thinking she should go back out and assist the first responders when she notices the numbers on her wrist. They’re changing so fast it’s all a blur on her skin. It’s only when the number of days disappears that she knows it’s going down. He’s coming. He’s rushing towards the same shelter where she is. He’s running for his life.

Rose’s heart gallops in her chest, adrenaline rushes in her veins. “Oh, gods, please.”

A nearby blast shakes the building.

And the countdown disappears. Nothing. Blinked into oblivion.

“Oh, no, no, you’re not doing that to me.”

Her soulmate is out there somewhere, in danger. She has never let the countdown dictate her life, she will not let it stop her now.

She elbows her way out of the crowd in the shelter, pushes past the warden and opens the door.

Outside, everything is completely silent. No voices or footsteps, no clamor or shouting.

Everything is still. Shells suspended in mid-air, and people turned into statues. Smoke isn’t rising, and airplanes aren’t flying. Cars have stopped in the middle of the road.

“What on earth?”

But she doesn’t have time to contemplate this, she must find him. But how? Anguish grips her heart as she scans the many buildings around her.

“I’m supposed to just know,” she remembers. “Where are you?”

And she feels a pull, towards the street ahead. Before doubt emerges, she takes off in that direction.

The astrophysics book in her shoulder bag bangs over her thigh and slows her run.

The pull grows stronger when she turns right. Like a stretched rubber band released-- a twenty-year stretch-- she’s propelled towards him.

An aircraft is suspended above the train station, and a bomb is halfway through the roof. Frozen flames come out the windows. And she’s about to go right in there.

Inside, moonlight glints off shards of glass hanging in the air. It smells of burnt toasts and, oddly, of lilac blossoms.

She approaches slowly, keenly aware of the static bomb piercing the roof. She moves the floating glass and dust out of her way, but they don’t fall to the floor.

Aboard an incoming train, passengers’ faces are stuck in an expression of horror.

A cast iron beam has fallen off the roof, and she detects a human form trapped underneath. And she just knows. It’s him. But she’s too late. She’s abused her gift by trying to influence the countdown, and now she’s paying the price.

Nevertheless, she rushes to his side with her heart in her throat.

He turns his head towards her, and relief floods her veins.

Everything else remains immobile. And suddenly, it all makes sense, the fluctuations of the countdown.

“But it’s impossible,” he says. “You can move.”

“You can control time?”

“Sor’ of.”

She kneels beside him. The frozen flames illuminate the angular face of a young man. It feels deeply familiar, a recognition beyond his physical features. She gently wipes the hair off his sweaty forehead.

“Are you hurt?”

“Not yet.”

He’s stuck underneath the beam, the navy fabric of his uniform dips where the metal presses, his breaths are cut short, but it hasn’t completely fallen on him. It’s a millisecond away from crushing his chest.

He takes her hand in his, holds it over his heart, almost like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. A reflex.

“I don’t know how long I can hold it.”

“For as long as you want.” She gives his hand a gentle squeeze.

“No, I mean the time.” His chuckle turns into a wheeze, but he returns the gentle squeeze.

“Oh.”

Their attention turns to the impending destruction around them.

“Can you move a little?” she asks him.

“Not much.” He attempts to wiggle, and his grunt of pain echoes in Rose’s own body.

“Hold on.”

Rose runs to one end of the beam and tries to lift it. It’s very heavy, and it’s sheer adrenaline that she can raise it barely half a foot higher.

“How ‘bout now?”

With more room to move, he slides up but his shoulder cracks unnaturally. The world around them shudders. The suspended shards of glass shift. The train exhales a puff of smoke. The bomb above them drops an inch.

“Stop! Just breathe, okay? Focus on stopping time. I’ll think of something.”

She scans the area for something to prop the beam on. There’s a box by a bench, but it’s out of her reach. She’s scared it will crush him if she lets go.

Her palms are moist, and the beam slips bit by bit from her grasp.

And then, _of course_.

She adjusts her grip on the beam, reaches into her messenger bag and pulls out the heavy astrophysics manual. She places it under the beam, so as to keep it raised.

When she’s certain it’s steady, she scurries back to the man.

“I’ll try to pull you out of there.” She grabs him under the arms, but his face immediately contorts with pain, and the bomb above them drops another inch.

Rose is on the verge of tears.

“I think my humerus is fractured,” he says through gritted teeth, “at the shoulder joint and my collarbone too.”

“You need a doctor.”

“I am a doctor. Just do as I say, okay?”

She follows his instructions to stabilize his arm. With shaking hands, she rolls her jacket and carefully puts it between his upper arm and chest. Then removes his tie and uses it as a sling from his forearm to the opposite shoulder. Through it all, he breathes through gritted teeth and keeps his eyes firmly on the bomb.

“How is this?” she asks.

“Brilliant! You’re brilliant. Now we have to move fast.”

“Why?”

“Time is about to reset.”

Pushing on his feet and with Rose’s help, he slides from under the beam. She helps him up, his legs are shaky but there’s not time to worry about that. He grabs her hand.

“Run!”

They bolt out of the station as the ceiling bends and bricks crumble. Flames flare up and noises rush to their ear all at once like the crescendo of a symphony.

They make it across the street before the explosion. The doctor pushes her down on the grass and shields her with his body, his free arm protecting their heads. Fragments of the train station rain around them.

After a moment of calm, he lifts his head up from the crook of her neck.

They first exchange a concerned look, making sure the other is safe and sound, but their frowns quickly morph into wide, beaming smiles, lost in each other’s eyes as the city burns around them

“Hello.”

“Hello.”

They laugh, a high, escape valve sort of laughter.

His gaze drops to her lips, and Rose’s heart beats madly.

A scream pierces the night.

“The train!”

Neither hesitates, they jump to their feet and run back to the station.

They meet the station foreman who takes them to another, safer entrance.

The train was packed with soldiers, those who can still stand on two feet fight the smoke and flames to rescue their friends.

For hours they pull conscious and unconscious men from the burning building. There are emergencies all across town, so few firemen and ambulances join them. The doctor treats as many injuries as he can, and Rose assists him. Soot stains their cheeks and sweat beads on their foreheads. Rose reassures the men with soothing words as they bandage wounds and stop hemorrhages with ripped fabric. They work in sync, few words are needed, as if from years of experience. She’s his right hand— quite literally as his arm is still in a makeshift sling.

Not a moment is spared to think about themselves, but she doesn’t miss the way he looks at her, full of wonder and questions.

When the sun rises over York and shines through the misty ruins, the all clear sirens bellow all across town. The worst is over.

The Women’s Voluntary Services arrive. They unload a hot water urn from the back of their van and dole out cups of tea and fruit cake to the survivors and rescue team.

Rose and the doctor collapse to the ground, exhausted. After deep breaths and heavy sighs, they turn on their sides to face each other, resting on the dewy grass, unaware of the morning hustle and bustle around them.

Her fingers itch to touch him, to learn every detail of his face. A million questions about his life and hobbies are on the tip of her tongue. But she paces herself, worried she’ll scare him, he doesn’t know about soulmates.

“We make a good team,” he says.

“Yeah, we do.”

He scoots closer to her.

“You need medical care too,” Rose says, stroking his arm. It’s only an excuse to touch him, and he’s leaning into her touch.

“It can wait.”

She’s shaking from shock or want, she doesn’t know. Her hand moves up to his shoulder, to the nape of his neck. Their legs entwine.

Every cell of her being reacts to the proximity. Awakens. Bursts to life. She can’t fight the urge to be closer. She hugs him, and he welcomes it. He fists her shirt and buries his nose in her hair, and she wraps her arms even tighter around him. Their hearts beat to the same rhythm, answering each other. It’s overwhelming.

“Who are you?” he whispers.

She tilts her head back, just enough to see his face.

“I’m Rose. Rose Tyler. And you, doctor?”

“John…” He squints at her, searching her face. “How do I know you?”

“Last year, in June, did you stop time?”

He rests his forehead on hers, and she cups his cheeks.

“… I felt like I had to. I didn’t know why,” he says.

“You saved me.”

“And you saved me.”

The tips of their noses rub together. His breath brushes her lips. She laughs for no other reason than the happiness bubbling up in her. And it’s the most natural thing to close the space between their mouths. The kiss is tender and shy, lips chastely pressed together. But her fingers through his hair prompts him to deepen the kiss. He captures her mouth, his hand finds her hip, and it feels like he stopped time again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you like this trope and/or my writing, maybe check out "Woven Souls".
> 
> All the historical events depicted in this fic happened for real, including the geomagnetic storm on 9 September 1941 (I was just excited to learn about that and had to include it), and the bombing of York and of the train station (as soon as I learned about the train approaching it during the bombing, I knew the Doctor and Rose would try to help even if it interrupted their moment).


End file.
